#we're gonna wind up with like half of our posts tagged that just because of the loopback aren't we

[mantisgodiveblog]

(Part 22 is here)

Though we doubt that this will be the end of formatting issues, knowing when they'll begin will give us a solid start. Considering the achievements in this game, the fact that we're on act 2 of 6, the fact that we know someone who's also playing the game right now, and... everything else, we sincerely doubt that this will be the end of the game, and thus, we have no need to rush that banana peel death after this - we can, instead, simply observe the knock-on effects of giving that bow to Mirabelle. Once we've finished with Dormont, of course.

Perhaps fittingly, this post begins with Loop.

We have thought long and hard about the Loop Activities, after the grievous accusations of kinning that occurred a few days ago. Through our musings, we have come to a conclusion. We are not a reflection of Loop, not are we a "Loop kin", or similar statements. We simply bud off the same branch - reflections of the same image of irreverent glamor, the same flavor of "godlike and uncaring of the rabble", the same sort of, as they say, Hot Girl Shit. That said, we are better at it, Loop wishes that they were us, we're hotter than them, also.

In a turn of events that we're certain will surprise no one, we still dislike them. Their lovely suggestion of applying euthanasia via Tear to get out of a dead end has done nothing to endear them to us! They have new dialogue, though, and that means we're coming over to harass our dear Dandelion until they offer us some decent chatter. The amount of excessively infuriating habits packed into them is almost impressive! It's making us better as a person by being able to observe all of the ways in which they fucking suck! We would love to pin them to the wall like an insect.

Thank you for the lovely suggestion, Starlight, but we actually aren't very interested in killing ourself in the starting town so that we can sacrifice our memories to move forward! We do enough memory loss in real life, thank you. We'll die when we die! Preferably, in a manner that doesn't involve you.

[telomeke-bbs]

Seven Sentence Sunday Tuesday - Bad Buddy Edition

I was tagged by the lovely @dimplesandfierceeyes (whose Tumblr name I will forever love, because it's our beloved boys Lak Yim and Ai Dtaa Kheet after all 😍) at this post here. Thanks for tagging me! 🥰

Writing fiction isn't really my thing, and I don't know much about structure or plot-crafting, or any of the technical intricacies involved in creative writing. I guess I write more about what's already there, and try to back it up with new information I've uncovered.

But I think it might be fun to play this tag game, so I'm going to dip my toe in the water a bit (although I'm gonna do my utmost to stretch the seven-sentence limit 😂), and imagine what it's like to be in the mind of a certain Dimples, on a certain rooftop, at a certain point in his life. 😔

Deep breath here...

‌

TAKE THAT STEP

"Why? Do you want us to be friends?" I hear the half-cynical words leave my lips before I can help myself.

"No," he whispers, his face contorted with longing.

He goes in for a kiss and I'm ready, but the night air on this rooftop is so cold, and all I can hear now is the sound of rushing wind, the blood roaring through my head as I taste my beloved's salty tears on my lips, mixed with my own, they taste like my own, so familiar now because tears are old friends after all, tears and ghostly memories, old friends who've come back to visit me again tonight, as they have so many nights before.

We pull apart, hot breath on our faces.

"Take him. He's yours. Go for it," says the voice within me, but I can barely make it out over the sound of my own voice from days past, roaring like the blood in my head: "Things don't end well whenever I'm close to you Things Don't End Well Whenever I'm Close To You THINGS DON'T END WELL WHENEVER I'M CLOSE TO YOU–"

And we're so close – HE'S SO CLOSE... "Not yours, never was, never will be, never ever – don't you dare, take him he's yours, he wants you, this is no time for reasoning, TAKE THAT STEP, taste your beloved, just one more time, just once, just once, just once, close your eyes and he'll be yours forever in this one moment and never again, never again, TAKE THAT STEP–"

‌

[ladylilithprime]

What Is More Infinite Than The Universe

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel), Balthazar/Meg

Rating: General to Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, References to Dean Winchester's Canon Levels of Stubbornness, Archangel Gabriel Casually Hanging Out In A Faerie Cafe, Dragon Balthazar, Dragon Meg

Summary: Some businesses shut down when the weather turns bad. Others tend to get an uptick in activity. Some good... some not.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 9: Storm

Read on AO3

WHEN THE WEATHER forecast for the week had handed down the verdict that Seven Mile Island, New Jersey, was going to be inundated with rain for five out of seven days, several of the tourist spots opted to close up shop for the week. Walking tours, wetlands exploration, and the ever popular beachcombing activities of a coastal location just weren't as appealing (or safe) when having to battle the elements to get anywhere. Conversely, places like The Kitchen Witch, The Black Cats' Kettle, and Lighthouse CommodiTeas saw a distinct uptick in their usual customer traffic, including the lifeguards and tour guides who would otherwise be staying home or stuck in their main offices doing paperwork. Nice, hot meals and rich soups from the two witch-owned restaurants really hit the spot on a cold, wet day, and the warm drinks and fresh-baked cookies and pastries from the faerie-owned cafe were a welcome treat anytime, but especially during less than pleasant weather.

"It's really coming down out there!" Balt announced to the cafe at large as he opened the door, sending a burst of cold air into the cozy interior. He quickly deployed one dark blue and black wing to block further incursions of wind as he held the door open for Meg, tucking it back out of sight into the pocket dimension where dragons kept the majority of their mass while in human shape as he let the door swing shut behind them.

"Pulling extra shifts this week?" Sam guessed, eyeing them both even as he reached for the phoenix ash. Jimmy followed his lead and started pulling out the sweetened condensed milk, chocolate sauce, and cinnamon chili powder. It was rare to see Balt and Meg coming in together as they usually kept an alternating shift schedule on purpose. Unsurprisingly, the dragons both nodded.

"Wouldn't you both have less to do when it's raining like this?" one of the other customers asked, frowning in puzzlement. Jimmy recalled that she was one of the newer tour guides for the wetlands and had lamented that the weather had shut down the job she had been looking forward to starting.

"Weather like this tends to mean more accidents, which means having as many doctors and nurses on call in the ER as can be spared," Meg sighed. "Search and rescue, too, given the risk of flooding, and that's assuming it doesn't kick up into a hurricane."

"The relevant local powers are all keeping an eye on things," Sam assured her, getting a grateful nod in return.

"And the hazards of fires don't drop just because it's wet out," Balt chimed in with a grimace. "No easier to put them out once started, either. Imma spend as much time using my wings as an umbrella for my mates as I am diving in to haul folks outta trouble."

"But why?" the customer asked, confused. "Wouldn't most people stay home if they didn't have to go out?"

"Nah, plenty'a people out and about, even on days like this," Gabriel piped up from where he'd been enjoying his usual Trickster's Special and a S'mores Brownie. He waved a hand around the cafe. "Case in point, we're all here, and when we leave we'll have to be out there. Now, we're all gonna be blessed with whatever good luck boost our bodacious baristas have included in our drinks, but that only covers us and anyone else who comes in for a pre- or post-work pick-me-up. It doesn't cover the folks who decided they'd rather warm up with a shot or six at the bar, or tried to start a fire in their electric fireplace."

"'Two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I am not yet completely sure about the universe.' Albert Einstein," Sam quoted, passing Jimmy the cups for toppings.

"Isn't it kind of racist for you to say that?" another customer asked, frowning.

"The boss is half human," Charlie pointed out with a shrug. "If anyone should be allowed to mock both humans and faeries with impunity, it's him. And besides, Einstein was human and he saw a lot less of human stupidity than the boss has."

"And if he'd ever met my older brother he probably wouldn't have limited it to human stupidity," Sam grumbled.

"Dean-bean still being very himself about the alicorn incident?" Gabriel guessed, tsking when Sam and Jimmy both nodded. "You ever decide to cash in that favor I owe you, Samarooni, just let me know..."

"I think sending you after him would be a bit overkill," Sam said dryly. "But we appreciate the offer."

"Don't worry, I sicc'ed Baby on him," Charlie said, winking at Gabriel's pout. "We'll just see how many miles of nothing but dubstep he can tolerate before he caves and actually apologizes. Balt, Meg, you two want anything else besides your usuals?"

"Can we each get a couple dozen assorted baked goods?" Meg asked, after exchanging a glance with Balt. "Not much keeps morale up in the ER like free pastries, and Clarence makes some of the best we've ever had."

Jimmy glanced at Sam. Sam shrugged and glanced back towards the kitchen where Cas was listening. Jimmy caught sight of his brother surveying the ovens and the trays standing by, then nodded and held up ten fingers. "If you can spare ten minutes, we'll get you squared away with an assortment fresh out of the oven."

"I'll make Balt drop me off first," Meg grinned. "He can afford to be a little late."

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 28)

Promises And Honesty

Here’s a pretty long chapter with a mix of conflict, smut and fluff. I hope you enjoy! Rated explicit, wink wink, ‘cause our man is injured and he deserves some lovin’. Also, I’ve included some HC’s about Arthur’s, *ahem*, romantic experience. These are just my own thoughts, feel free to have your own thoughts and take what I write in my story as just that, my story. I’m not saying this is canon :)

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Micah and I headed back to camp after another drink, and it was dark by the time we returned. After the awkwardness passed at the Parlour House, Micah and I ended up having a pleasant evening. I found that he could be a likeable enough guy when he wasn’t attempting to flirt or suck up to me, he could even be quite entertaining. Still, two drinks were enough and I was ready to return, eager to surround myself with the company of the other gang members, who were decidedly more comfortable to be around.

Micah was loud as he swung down from his horse, pulling out the money clip and waving it around, singing my praises. It attracted the attention of Dutch, who asked what we’d been up to. I let Micah explain, remaining quiet as my eyes wandered over to Arthur’s tent. The canvas was pinned back so he wasn’t isolated, and he was sitting upright against the wagon and watching us, his journal open on his lap, pencil in his hand but no longer moving. He was looking at Micah, not seeming to notice my gaze on him, and the man in question distracted me with a hand on my shoulder.

“What’d I tell you, Dutch? She and I do well, paired up together. That was a good call of yours to send us out to that house together all those weeks ago,” Micah said, his fingers kneading and rubbing at my shoulder, far too comfortable there. I eased away a bit, until he got the hint and let go of me. That was one thing I could give him credit for; he tended not to push things further than I’d like.

“Sixty dollars is pretty darn good for a bag of broken glass, I must admit that’s probably some of the easiest money we’ve ever made,” Dutch replied, giving me a proud smile. “My dear, you have any more ideas where that came from?”

“I could probably think of some,” I said, “though, these kinds of things probably shouldn’t be done in the same town too often, in case some busy body catches wind.”

“Of course, you do what you think is best,” Dutch nodded, taking the money that Micah offered to him; the camp’s cut. He handed me my share too, and I slipped it away in my satchel before glancing over at Arthur again.

“Anyway, excuse me,” I dipped my head politely and went to excuse myself. A hand wrapped around my wrist, and I turned to see it was Micah. 

“Thank you, darlin’, for a very pleasant evening,” he told me, his tone dripping with his version of charm. I stalled for a moment, taken aback by it. 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I murmured. 

“I’m welcome, am I?” He repeated, a sinuous, cheeky laugh following up his words. I retracted my arm and walked away, fast losing interest in whatever sort of innuendo he might be making. 

“Mr. Bell?” I heard Dutch questioning playfully. Micah laughed, secretive and somewhat suggestive. I frowned to myself, trying my damnedest to rise above it, something unpleasant crawling within me at the thought of the assumptions Dutch could possibly come to.

Why couldn’t Micah act like the half decent human being I’d seen glimpses of, all the time? Perhaps then, the rest of the gang might actually like him, considering I got the impression that most of them didn’t. 

I reached Arthur’s tent just as Miss Grimshaw did, she was carrying a bucket of water. 

“Here you go, Mr. Morgan, be careful it’s not too warm for you,” she said, leaving the bucket on his table before turning to undo the strings tying the canvas to the wagon, about to let it swing closed when she spotted me. 

“Thanks, Susan,” Arthur told her, his voice sounding tired and monotonous. 

“You have a visitor,” she said, shifting to show me to him. He was unbuttoning his union suit, and paused to wave me in. I entered, the canvas falling closed behind me as Susan left us alone in the privacy of the tent. 

I sat down on the chair by Arthur’s bed, helping him pull back his union suit so he wouldn’t have to strain and pull too hard on his injury. It was healing well, all things considered, but I knew that it still caused him a lot of pain and he wasn’t yet out of the woods. The more time went on, the less happy he seemed being cooped up, and I felt so much sympathy for him. 

He left the union suit hanging around his hips, scooting forwards on the bed to reach for the bucket of water, grunting a little at the use of his bad arm. I placed my hand on his chest and reached into the bucket for him, taking out the washcloth there, squeezing it out and bringing it to his body, scrubbing it gently over his chest. Arthur kept his eyes down towards the floor as I washed him. I didn’t want him to feel bad about being bathed like a child, so I tried to do it in a way that was affectionate, bordering on sensual so that he might enjoy it, rather than feel embarrassed.

“How’d it go with Micah?” He asked me, and my mind went to his offer in the Parlour House before it went to our job, making my hand still on his toned stomach. I carried on quickly, though, re-wetting the cloth and bringing it to his arm, and he held it out for me to give me better access. 

“You wanna talk about Micah whilst I’m doing my very best to be like them bath girls you mentioned?” I teased him. 

“I mentioned bath girls?” He questioned, head quickly turning to me, eyes filling with dread. 

“The night you turned up here. Ain’t surprised you don’t remember, you weren’t in a good way. All that whiskey, too,” I explained. Arthur kept staring at me and I met his eyes, chuckling. “What'chu look so nervous for?”

“I’m sorry if I said anything out of line,” he said ashamedly, eyes dropping to where my hands worked across his forearm.

“What? You didn’t.”

“I’ve only ever paid for one once, an’ that was out of curiosity. Never thought much to it, felt a little awkward if I’m being honest,” he told me quietly, “I don’t make a habit of it.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” I laughed, dragging the cloth under the palm of his hand and kissing at his fingertips. “You made a joke, that’s all. We laughed about it.”

“Oh, well alright,” he murmured. I stared at his face for a moment before taking a breath and answering his question. 

“It went well, anyway. Got sixty dollars, and it turned out being pretty funny… we had people stepping into help us, the con artists." 

"Really?” He asked, lips curling up into something close to a smile. I nodded and he breathed a short laugh.

“Felt a little bad for a moment, but,” I trailed off, shrugging. 

“Ain’t nothing compared to what the rest of us do,” he murmured, going quiet for a moment before adding, “well, I’m glad it went well.”

“I figured it’d been a while since I brought in any money.”

“You’re alright, you do enough.”

“How’re you feeling, anyway?” I asked, moving onto his other arm; on his injured side. I avoided his dressing and carefully brushed the cloth over his skin. Arthur was silent for a few seconds.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” I peered at his eyes, though he kept his gaze on my hands.

“I’m just… I don’t like having to just lie here,” he admitted. 

“I know, sweetheart, but you gotta get fit and healthy again. You ain’t gonna do that by pushing yourself.”

“I know. It ain’t so bad when you’re here, but,” he trailed off and sighed, and my hand froze on his bicep.

“I’m sorry for leaving you, earlier. It didn’t occur to me– I thought you were just fed up over not being able to get out yourself,” I apologised, and Arthur met my eyes, his widening a little.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I know I can’t keep you chained to my bedside this whole time,” he chuckled, “you gotta do what you gotta do. Don’t mind me.”

“I will mind you. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

Arthur shook his head and changed the subject. “Saw Micah touching you again, he ain’t getting ideas just ‘cause you’re working with him, is he?”

My eyes widened and I faltered, my heart beating it’s way into my throat. It was as if Arthur had read my mind and somehow knew something had happened. He frowned in concern at my expression, and I sighed and decided it was best to come clean, as keeping it to myself felt dirty. 

“I want to tell you something,” I began.

“Okay,” he sounded nervous. 

“Don’t be mad. Micah and I went to the Parlour House after, just to have a drink to celebrate a job well done,” I said, meeting his eyes. 

He was staring at me with parted lips, anxiety clear in his pretty eyes. 

My mouth went dry and I shifted the cloth to my other hand and began cleaning his back. “I’m only telling you this in the name of openness, and because it feels wrong to keep it from you when we're… you know.”

“Angel,” he exhaled, his head shaking minutely. I realised how it was all sounding and was quick to amend my clunky wording. 

“Arthur, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Nothing happened,” I assured him and he relaxed a little, sighing out in mild relief. “But he did… offer.”

“He offered?” He repeated drily.

“Yes, he tried to persuade me to- to– well, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? I told him no, obviously, and thankfully he didn’t push. But I wanted to tell you, Arthur, because I see that he likes to rile people up, twist things, and the last thing I wanted was for some rumour to start and for you to hear it, and–”

“I understand,” he nodded, cutting me off with a gruff tone. His jaw was tight and he stared daggers at the ground. “That son of a bitch’s lucky I’m injured, if I weren’t I’d be out there right now–”

“Arthur, it’s fine.”

“–knocking seven bells out'a him.”

“I don’t doubt it, that’s another reason why I’m telling you now instead of waiting around until something gets spread and you’re fit enough to do something about it. I don’t want you fighting him on my account, you get on poorly enough without me.”

“He’s a bag of shit, sweetheart, with or without you I’m sure at some point I’ll bust his face, whether he looks at me wrong or somethin’ worse,” he growled. I sighed and leaned close, pressing a kiss to his damp shoulder before rinsing the cloth, continuing to wash him. 

“It’s not worth it,” I told him. 

“Oh, it would be. Nothin’ would bring me greater pleasure,” he responded, and I caught his eye.

“Nothing?” I repeated, cocking a brow suggestively.

“I hate him so goddamn much,” he said through clenched teeth, missing my insinuation. His voice had darkened to that particular tone that always ran right through me and made my insides hum peculiarly. “It’s bad enough he’s kissing Dutch’s ass like he is, now he’s tryin'a get a piece of yours.”

“Arthur,” I breathed, shaking my head and letting out a surprised laugh at his choice of words. “I handled it.”

He looked at me, his brows arching unhappily. I kissed his cheek then brought the cloth back to his front, scrubbing it down the center of his torso, over his abs, right above where his union suit covered his more intimate parts. I felt him tense. 

“Don’t think about him no more, we’re alone right now. It’s just us,” I reminded him. He went quiet, watching me as I tugged at his union suit; he lifted his hips to allow me to pull it down his legs, leaving him naked. It was the first time I’d seen him completely nude, the first time I’d seen his manhood in decent light from the lantern.

I swallowed, heating up significantly, and began washing his thighs, bending to wash his calves, his feet. Moving up and repeating the action on his other leg. The tent had gone unnaturally quiet, like we were both trying to breathe silently. I pretended not to notice the way his body began to stir at my touch. I rinsed the cloth, biting down on my lip as I gingerly brought it between his legs.

“I could do that,” his words were breathy and half-hearted. I tried to be as appropriate as possible, but regardless he hardened further under the cloth in my hand. My heart pounded harder than I imagined it could, thinking about the gang being outside of the tent, completely ignorant to whatever we got up to in there.

“Arthur,” I whispered, turning my head but keeping it tilted down, not daring to meet his eyes. “You think if I was to… to do something for you, you’d be able to be discreet?”

I heard him swallow, then he shifted slightly on the bed. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“Would you be able to be quiet?” I rephrased, making myself look up to his eyes. He bit down on his lip, gnawing for a moment as his face reddened. 

“Angel, I lived out my teenage years living in camps just like this,” he started, his voice so very quiet, “I’m more practiced than I care to admit in being quiet.”

We shared a breathy laugh, faces lingering close to one another. I pressed forwards and kissed him, rubbing his growing erection with the warm, wet cloth a little more purposefully now. His breathing sped up, his body jerking, lips moving against mine hungrily. His arm reached for me, crossing his chest, twisting his shoulder and making his breath hitch with a shot of pain. I let go of the cloth momentarily to guide his arm back, breaking the kiss and looking him in the eye. 

“Don’t do nothin’, just enjoy this,” I told him and he nodded after a moment. 

I pressed against his chest, prompting him to lean back against the side of the wagon, and I picked up where I left off, my other hand roaming across his chest. He seemed to appreciate my hand’s exploration. Though, admittedly I was doing it more out of greed than to bring him any extra pleasure. Arthur’s body was incredible. Firm and built with muscle, marred by the occasional scar and oh so beautiful. I couldn’t not feel him all over, noting the way his chest hair felt under my palm, the way his muscles flexed when my hand moved over his abdomen, lower down. He was so attractive to me and I found myself enjoying the situation far more than I expected.

He let his eyes fall closed as his mouth fell open, audible breaths leaving him, the occasional, quiet hum of pleasure as my grip tightened around both him and the cloth. I hoped the warm wetness added to the experience. 

“You’re so handsome,” the words slipped from me of their own accord, so naturally. His chest jerked a bit with a quiet laugh and he opened his eyes to me. “I wanna give you more than this.”

“How could you possibly think that this ain’t more than enough?” He questioned breathlessly.

“I wanna give myself to you, completely,” I divulged to him and his jaw slackened, face morphing into one of deep pleasure. “Would you have me?”

“Jesus– princess, of course I would,” he exhaled, his good arm reaching up, hand cupping my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. A smile formed on my lips and I dipped my head enough to watch my hand working over his length, speeding up. A quiet grunt released from his throat and his hips jerked a bit on the bed. 

“Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather experience all this with for the first time,” I told him, letting go of the cloth and wrapping my hand around him again. Skin on skin. He loosened a quiet sound, nothing that had me worrying that people might hear. “And I think about us, making love for real.”

Arthur’s hand slipped away from my face, landing on my shoulder where his fingers squeezed around the material of my top. His eyes closed again, brow creasing. 

“Shit, I'm…” he breathed, not finishing his sentence. I licked my lips and squeezed him firmer, my hand sliding freely as the head of his length grew wetter. It wasn’t just leftover from the wet cloth.

“Never wanted it so bad before,” I continued, and Arthur shook his head weakly.

“Me neither,” he said, surprising me. 

“Yeah?" 

"God, yeah. Cooped up in this tent, no distractions, the mind wanders an awful lot.”

“Well, now you know, I promise myself to you. I'm all yours, once you’re well enough,” I told him, leaning towards him and kissing the base of his jaw, near his ear. I kissed down a little, testing out a few spots on his neck, hearing him breathing hard and fast. 

“Almost there,” he whispered in a low exhale.

I hummed a pleased sound, leaning back so I could watch him; my free hand gliding over his chest again, nails raking through hair, palm knocking against a nipple. His abdomen tensed, making his muscles more pronounced. Then, with a soft sigh of my name and the loosening of everything, he came. Shooting up over my knuckles, onto his belly, his breath was hot and laboured, puffing and filling the tent. He managed not to make too much noise; the odd grunt, a loud breath like a heavy sigh, my name once or twice more. I bit my lip as I watched him, my own arousal warm and demanding between my legs. I ignored it.

“That’s nice,” I whispered, my thumb sliding over the head of his member through some of the slick, lifting off and watching a string form between us. Arthur seemed amused by my fascination, letting me play with him as he calmed down from the peak of his pleasure.

I was tempted to lick at my hand, curiosity rising about what he might taste like. However, I decided against it, letting go of Arthur and reaching for the discarded washcloth. I soaked it in the water before using it to clean both of us up, peeking up at his eyes to catch him watching me with a small, tired smile on his face. My skin heated up at his attention. I averted my eyes back down to his body, wiping up the evidence of what we’d done where it pooled below his navel. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to me. I laughed a little, shaking my head. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” I told him and he shrugged his good shoulder. 

“I feel more relaxed now than I have all week, I’m thanking you. That was real nice,” he insisted, moving to sit up gingerly once I was done cleaning him. He approached me for a kiss, one that was sweet and simple, tender. 

“Well, I’m glad. Let’s get you dressed,” I smiled, running my hand over his body to check that he was dry enough; pleased to find the air had dried him off during our deviation.

I helped him back into his union suit – he rarely bothered dressing any further than that lately unless he planned on venturing out of his tent – and once he was dressed I guided him to lay back down on his bed. It was getting late anyway, and Arthur looked sleepy. I stood up, going to get rid of the dirty water, but Arthur reached for me, hand catching my skirt. 

“Leave that. I don’t want you to go, yet,” he murmured. 

“I’ll come right back.”

“Mm, just sit for a sec’,” he insisted, and I didn’t resist. 

I quickly came to learn that Arthur became a little more affectionate after we were intimate; cuddly, clingy even. Though, not in a way I disliked. I couldn’t bring myself to neglect his apparent need for closeness, and sat myself down on the chair next to his bed. 

I threaded my fingers through Arthur’s where his hand rested on his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his steadying breath. My eyes wandered to the side of the wagon where a couple of pictures were pinned. There was one of Arthur with Hosea and Dutch, taken a long time ago. They were all very young, Arthur looked like he could be in his teens, certainly no older than his early twenties. There was another photo of a dog, and one of another gentleman. I gathered it was Arthur’s father, given the fact he was holding up a board that read Lyle Morgan, and I recognised the hat he was wearing as the one Arthur wore now.

Another photograph caught my eye, one that was framed and sitting on one of the storage boxes in his tent; it was laying face down. I reached for it to pick it back up, thinking it must’ve been knocked over at some point. I immediately recognised the woman in the frame, looking as pretty as the day I’d seen her in person. It was Mary. I looked at Arthur, his eyes were closed but he opened them after a moment as if sensing my attention. He noticed what I was looking at, his face shifting into something anxious. 

“Do you still miss her?” I asked, keeping my tone light, not accusatory. 

“Not really, not anymore,” he told me, “I’ve kept that photo since we ended things, I held onto her all these years, but I ain’t got no reason to now.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did. She was special to you,” I said, putting the photo down, standing up the frame. He craned his neck to look at it. 

“She was. I guess I… I think fondly of her, but I don’t think of her the same way as I used to. Not since you and I,” he explained, turning his attention to me. He gazed at me from his pillow, face relaxed, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re all I think about now.”

His words flustered me and I shifted in my seat, eyes darting all over the tent. 

“You really mean it when you say you’ll give yourself to me?” He asked after a moment. I met his eyes again, noting the soft crease of his forehead.

“Of course. When you’re all better and the time is right,” I said, seeing his forehead soften. “I want to.”

“Me too. It would mean a lot to me, I’m not–” he paused, rephrasing. “I haven’t shared that connection with many people. Two, in fact.”

“Really?” My brows raised and I hoped I hadn’t offended him with how shocked I sounded. Arthur simply chuckled. 

“Really. And truth be told, neither of 'em really meant anything at the time. It weren’t like you and me, how we are,” he explained, and I couldn’t help but frown, eyes wandering over to the photograph beside me. 

“What about Mary, surely that was kind of like us?” I pointed out and Arthur shook his head, eyes peeling up to the roof of the tent. 

“She and I never actually went the whole way. We might’ve fooled around a little, but,” he admitted, much to my surprise. “She didn’t wanna risk falling pregnant and disappointing her father, she was adamant she’d be married and settled before anything like that. For security’s sake. I guess it was the smart thing for her to do.”

“Well then, lucky for us I ain’t too smart,” I snorted.

“If wanting to share a bond like that with someone special is dumb, well, I’m a fool too,” he chuckled, then sighed. “It’d be a first for me. I lost my virginity to a prostitute, the fellers we was rolling with at the time’s idea of a birthday gift when I turned eighteen. Sometimes I regret that, but I was a kid, too curious for my own good. 

"Then, few years later when things went to pot with Mary, I was stupid and upset, went to bed with the first person who showed an interest and that– that’s how Isaac came to be.”

I didn’t know how to respond to his openness. I certainly appreciated that he felt comfortable enough to be honest with me, and somehow I felt comforted by the fact that he didn’t have an awful lot of experience. I’d assumed otherwise, of course, simply because he was perhaps the most handsome man I’d ever seen and he could’ve used that to his advantage if he wanted.

“And uh, that’s my romantic history in a nutshell, I guess,” he gave a nervous laugh when the silence stretched on a little too long. I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you for telling me that,” I whispered, “I feel better knowing that you and I ain’t so far apart.”

“And I feel better now I ain’t gotta try and live up to any expectations. If I don’t do a good job…” he frowned to himself and I kissed his cheek again. 

“You ain’t got nothing to worry about. I’ve liked everything we’ve done so far. Rather a lot,” I smiled at him, wide enough to feel the need to try and stifle myself as to not seem overly eager. 

“I jus’ wanna please you,” he whispered, reaching up to stroke the side of my face. I leaned into his palm, closing my eyes. “And make it special for you.”

“It’ll be special,” I whispered back. “'Cause it’s you, and I care about you a great deal.”

“I didn’t think I could feel anything like this again,” he confessed, and I opened my eyes to meet his. “Thought I’d used up all my chances.”

My mouth opened, but I was lost for words. I wished I could think of something to say to him that’d make him feel at least half as warm as I did, instead I just stared at him with an expression I hoped wasn’t as blank as my mind. 

“–I have never known a woman, with so many needs!” An irritable voice cut through the quiet, I soon recognised it as Dutch’s. 

“You don’t know the first thing about a woman’s needs,” Molly was slating right back, her words enough to make Arthur and I wince at each other.

“How selfish are you?–” Came Dutch’s response, more annoyance spewing from the next tent, only getting more heated. Arthur sighed heavily, his hand dropping away from the side of my face. 

The little bubble I was in burst as I remembered there was more than just Arthur and I in the world. 

[wayward-idiots]

Sometimes I yell into the void about things. This is the story I told in the tags of a post, about Jack Kline and Kevin Tran and two boys who didn’t much care for their birthrights, or becoming weapons, and how Kevin didn’t notice they were dating.

-

"Is that the Prophet?" Greg asks.

Greg's a pretty new demon and Val's already getting sick of looking at his dumb face. The demon mortality rate is finally settling back down now, after some concerning heights, but the downside is demons like Greg managed to live through the slaughter.

But Val looks and, holy shit, it's actually the Prophet.

It's Kevin Tran.

"And there are no Winchesters around," Greg adds.

Val's almost tempted to nab the kid. Sure, Crowley hasn't put out the word that he's interested in a pet prophet again, but someone's bound to be willing to give something in exchange for someone with that kind of power.

But.

"Don't say the name, moron."

"It's not like it summons them."

"It might." No one's quite sure about them.

"Who's that he's with?"

Val isn't sure. He's wearing a cardigan and talking expressively and he's definitely young, a trendy hairstyle and the curve of a boyish face is just visible as he gesticulates. But his back is to the demons, through the café windows. He's not one of them. His hair is neither long enough nor short enough, and he's much too small and young.

Whoever he is, he's got the Prophet's attention. They haven't been spotted yet.

Greg strolls – fucking strolls, he's not even good at lurking menacingly yet and he has the overconfidence of someone who needs to either have the power to back it up or the life squeezed out of him for playing at it – over to check out the Prophet's little friend.

Val follows.

Catches sight of the handsome, boyish face. He can't understand how he didn't see it before. The way his good mood rolls off him disguised the all-too-familiar power he exudes.

"Oh, no, nononono," says Val. "We're going. Let's go. Now, before he sees us—"

The Antichrist's eyes flicked over to them. The joy drains out of his face. The sunshine smile becomes a frown, and the Prophet looks up too, rapturous interest sliding away into confusion, briefly, and then hardening in recognition. They both stand up.

Val is still trying to remember how to make this useless meatsack move while so terrified that, if the meatsack had been alive, it might've actually regained control, when Greg, the absolute idiot, says, "Who?"

Greg is too new a demon to recognize that tugging, that innate loyalty, as reminiscent of the boy's father.

Lucifer himself had been even more magnetic, calling out to every demon in existence, but their Creator had been unmade before Greg's time – unmade by the very boy who is now leading the way out of the café with a jaunty little jingle of the bell on the door as he pushes it open and steps out to face them.

"Jack Kline," Val says, and considers that suicide would be a nice option right about now. That or lying prostrate at his feet. Maybe he could be persuaded not to tell his guardians to tell the King. Instead Val hunches low. "We, uh. Didn't mean to disturb you."

"What were you doing?" He asks. He mostly sounds curious, tinged with healthy suspicion, and more confusion than Val expected. His eyes are narrowed, but in confusion.

Val might actually live long enough to blame the whole thing on Greg when the King investigates.

The Prophet hovers just behind the Antichrist, wary.

"Making sure you weren't a Winchester."

"Oh," says the Antichrist. "I mean. My license does say Winchester. Jack Winchester Kline."

"They were trying to see if they could nab me," the Prophet says.

Accurately.

The narrow eyes become flinty.

Alarm bells are ringing in Val's head.

Hadn't the King put out some new order –

some warning –

"Don't interrupt date night! Oh god!"

"What?" Both the boys say.

"The King said not to interrupt your dates and we did, completely accidentally, our bad, we'll be leaving now, won't happen again, uh, Mr. Kline, Winchester, sir."

And Val slinks away, thinking Greg will either be sensible for once and do the cowardly thing, or become another demon-Winchester statistic.

Greg picks option A.

Val's a little proud. And will continue to be a little proud until it dawns that that means Greg will live to be annoying another day.

Go—Lu—Winchesters dammit.

-

Kevin shadows his eyes with his hand as he turns to Jack. "Did he just say Crowley ordered them not to bother us?"

"Will you feel better if I kill them anyway?"

Kevin gives this due consideration. He knows they were thinking about abducting him. But seeing Jack scared them off, and if word spreads that he's off limits because of Jack, it can only be a good thing. "Just scare 'em a little?"

"Okay," Jack shrugs. He turns back to the retreating demons, frowning, and in a moment his eyes flash gold. There's a distinct fizzle of answering power, and they vanish – Kevin's pretty sure both have been sent back to Hell, and the bodies returned wherever they came from, probably both dead, but at least they'll go back to their families for funerals and closure and all that completely fake bullshit.

"Your control is getting better," says Kevin, because thinking about all that will just make him want to open the can of worms that is trying to destroy all of Hell.

"It's easy when I'm angry," Jack admits.

Kevin glances at him. He's got a distinct little jaw-clench going. "Our coffee's getting cold," he says.

Jack brightens. "I can reheat it!" He likes the little non-violent, non-hellish things he can do with his powers, which is precisely why Kevin mentioned it. Gotta put that genius IQ to work, right?

It's not until they're sitting back down, rewarmed coffees in hand, that Kevin realizes, "Does that mean Crowley thinks we're dating?"

There's a pause. Jack swallows his mouthful of coffee. Stares at him. A little wide-eyed.

"Does that mean we're… not dating?" Jack asks.

Kevin stares at him.

And stares some more.

And drains his entire cup in one go and considers ordering an espresso shot because he might be on half-caf these days to avoid inflicting permanent damage with his caffeine intake after the near lethal amounts he ingested back in his fulltime tablet days.

And.

He hasn't dated since high school, which feels like lifetimes ago and can be measured in traumatic experiences in increments of ten. But also: how has he gotten to the point where he could wind up dating someone and not realize it?

Oh, god.

They've been to the movies, and not just in the home theater in the bunker. To the actual damn movies, without any of the others, even Charlie, who had winked at Kevin when they went to go see one separate from her and Dean nerding out. That had been two movies ago.

They have standing orders and usual booths and servers who recognize them and they went to the park to feed ducks special duck feeding food because bread was bad for them. Dean had denied this when Kevin opened the Amazon box, and then Sam had backed him up, and then Jack had been horrified humans ever gave ducks something so ill-suited to their digestive systems, and then Castiel backed him up, and Dean had spent an hour readjusting his worldview to accept that cartoons weren't always real. And then Sam had mentioned mice and cheese, rabbits and carrots, and then Kevin had brought up carrots and eyesight, and Dean had called them all nerds, and Jack had listened with absolute, angel-intense undivided attention as Kevin explained the history of British codebreaking and propaganda actually aimed at misleading the Germans. And then they'd gone to the park, like Kevin had planned a week in advance and ordered special duck food for.

Holy mother of –

Kevin's brain goes off into some seriously archaic, long-lost-to-human-memory languages to express the expletives he needed here.

And then he blinks, because Jack is starting to look crestfallen, and says, "I should really work on being a better boyfriend," he says, "'cause I didn't even notice."

"The ducks were nice," Jack defends his boyfriend abilities immediately.

Jack has powers. Jack knows what he means when he rubs his eyes and says "fuck Heaven" or "fuck destiny", Jack knows how it feels to worry about falling into the wrong hands, to be a weapon, to be terrified of what you are. Jack knows what it is to move past that and just become a person again. Albeit a weird one.

Kevin's dating his best friend.

And he hasn't even held his hand yet.

Kevin remedies that. Quickly.

Jack looks at him wonderingly as they hold hands a little awkwardly across the table, and the barista keeps smiling at them. Like seeing Kevin fumble for Jack's hand so suddenly and hastily made her entire freakin' week.

"I'm gonna take you to the zoo," Kevin says, thinking about the paper he wrote on the history of ethical zookeeping, and how excited Jack will be to hear about the progress humanity's made so quickly, and to look at the animals.

Jack smiles. "Can we go to one with penguins?"